


Happy Birthday, Sammy.

by CrimzonChyld



Series: Domesticated [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Presents, Curtain Fic, Dogs, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, Slash, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:32:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimzonChyld/pseuds/CrimzonChyld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Dean doesn't like dogs but he likes his brother.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday, Sammy.

**Author's Note:**

> **Did anyone honestly think I'd let Sam Winchester's birthday pass without acknowledgement?**   
> **Besides, Schipperkes are SOOOO CUTE!**   
> **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Sam woke up to the sound of Dean singing in the shower.

No seriously, Dean did that sort of thing. He hadn't done it often when they were on the road and hunting, only when he was in a particularly good mood. Or when he had a particularly hot date. Or when he'd had particularly amazing sex the night before.

In the past, Sam hardly ever knew which one it was and hardly ever asked. Now though, he knew for a fact it wasn't number two or number three. He never doubted Dean's faithfulness, his loyalty was legendary. So that left number one, just being in a good mood for no particular reason. Or maybe it was because it was Dean's day off and Sam's day off and they had all day to work on number three.

Sam rolled onto his stomach and smiled into his pillow, he could live with that.

He dozed off again and didn't wake until Dean literally pounced on him, straddling his waist from behind.

"Rise and shine, Sammy." He crowed.

Sam grunted and Dean climbed off him and bounded across the room to open the bedroom curtain wide.

"It's a beautiful . . . grey and cloudy day," Dean said cheerfully.

Sam turned over and sat up, this was one side effect of Dean being in a good mood without having gotten laid. Instead of being sated and relaxed, he was like an excitable puppy.

Sam yawned, "What time is it?"

"Little after nine," Dean answered now rifling through the dresser under the window, his back to Sam.

Dean was already dressed in a pair of beat up jeans, his back still looked damp, like his hair and there was water beaded on his broad shoulders. Sam suddenly felt parched and wanted nothing more than to lick away the moisture that was clinging to Dean's skin.

When Dean pulled a shirt on, Sam frowned, very nearly pouting. Sam wanted to tell him to take that damn shirt off and get back in bed.

What came out was, "Did you use all the hot water?"

"Nevermind that now, I'm makin' breakfast so get your sweet ass out of bed." Dean said before he practically sprinted out the bedroom door.

Sam flopped back in bed with a groan. Dean was way too chipper today and the thought that this was before coffee was honestly frightening. Even suspicious. Sam raised his head and glared at the empty doorway in mistrust before thinking that it might have something to do with the fruits and vegetables that he had introduced to Dean's diet. His warrior brother was actually becoming quite the culinary master but he would whine like a petulant eight year old, he'd still eat them anyway. Sam often thought that Dean actually liked what he was eating but he'd never admit that to Sam. The fridge was also chock full of fresh fruits and there was very few chips and Bing Bongs, much to Dean's annoyance. Sam pointed out that if Dean wanted more "Dean Friendly" snacks he was more than welcome to come to the grocery store with him at which Dean would just huff and pout and mumble something about "girly" and that would be that, Dean would be stuck munching on fruit. Still, Sam always made sure that they had plenty of Dean's favorite beer on hand to compensate for the fact that Dean had to eat less corn syrup and greasy fries that he had grown accustomed to on the road.

Now that they didn't really hunt anymore, they had to think about their health. They might actually make it to old age now.

The smell of coffee, eventually got Sam to drag himself out of bed and down the hall of their small, yet, comfortable and most importantly, _paid for_ , three bedroom house.

Sam squinted at the light offered by all the opened curtains now that the sun had broken through the clouds. Okay, sunshine he could handle and a chipper Dean he could handle, though he didn't exactly want to handle them at the same time right after waking up.

If he didn't know better . . .

"Dude, are you high or something?" Sam asked, sitting down at the table across from the kitchen as he watched Dean scurry around, making scrambled eggs and breakfast sausage.

Dean poured a two cups of coffee and slid one across the table to Sam.

"What, a guy can't be in a good mood?" Dean asked before taking a drink.

Sam rolled his eyes and got up to grab the half & half from the refrigerator. Dean always acted like it was some sort of crime to defile coffee with cream and sugar.

"Not you in the morning without caffeine," Sam answered as he sat back down. "Not with all this bright shiny sunshine blinding us, either."

"C'mon Sammy," Dean chirped, "I just feel good."

Sam shook his head and in a matter of minutes he had a plate of eggs, sausage and buttered toast in front of him. Dean even included a glass of orange juice. Everything would have been perfect if it weren't for the fact that Dean seemed like he was trying to set the world record for speed eating.

"Dude, you might wanna chew before you swallow." Sam told him.

"In a hurry," Dean managed to say between bites.

Sam rolled his eyes, "I can see that."

Dean gulped down the rest of his coffee and then gathered up his dishes to put them in the sink. Afterwards, he headed for the front door.

"Gotta go," he called, shoving his feet into his shoes and grabbing his jacket.

"Go?" Sam's eyebrows shot up, he wasn't even halfway done with his own breakfast. "What do you mean go?"

"I got some errands to run," Dean tossed over his shoulder, "call y'later."

Dean was out the door before Sam could say anything else, leaving Sam to gape in disbelief after him.

So . . . that was completely random.

Sam frowned in confusion, the hell was that about? This was getting more suspicious by the minute.

After Sam finished breakfast and was drinking his second cup of coffee, he glanced at the calender and nearly choked, he suddenly realized it was his birthday.

Birthdays on the road were usually celebrated with a "happy birthday, dude" and a case of beer, maybe even choice of dinner when they had the money. Occasionally, you might even get a real gift, that didn't come from the local gas station, if you were very, very lucky. It was usually a weapon for Dean or a book for Sam but those were extremely rare occasions.

Their father had made a real effort for them on their birthdays. Always with a present, always with a special dinner. They had even gone to Chuck E. Cheese once. Sam was too young to remember that one. When Dean turned 12 he asked for his own gun and when Sam turned 12 he asked for a computer. It was a mark of how different the two were and they both got what they asked for.

It took a few minutes for Sam to work out how old he was. After spending almost two centuries in hell, you tend to lose track of time. Sam felt very old but he was on the good side of 30 now. Pretty good considering there were times he didn't think he'd see 25 let alone 30.

Sam sighed, he wondered if his birthday had anything to do with Dean's odd behavior. Sam knew he'd feel a little guilty if it did, they hadn't done anything for Dean's birthday. Then again, the witch they were trying to find so they could get the curse she put on Dean lifted, then kill her, gave them a house that day.

Sam shook his head and decided to just go about his usual daily routine, which included a daily jog.

Dean complained endlessly about Sam jogging. He didn't get running just for the sake of running. He also complained about the lack of sidewalks. Not the he was concerned about Sam getting hit by a car or anything. Not at all. Just, if Sam was going to insist on jogging, why not go somewhere that had sidewalks? It would be easier. Or maybe there was a jogging trail, or something.

In fact there was a bike trail that joggers also used but that was in town and you pretty much had to circle the entire town when using it. Jogging in the neighborhood was just more convenient.

Dean never complained about the weights Sam used in the garage. No, Dean was quite content with Sam lifting weights. As long as he was in a pair of shorts and nothing else, Dean didn't have a word to say.

So Sam went for his jog, had a workout, then he took a shower.

Instant boredom hit after that.

Sam hated boredom but he hated hunting more so he supposed being bored sometimes was the trade-off. Then again, it was his birthday. Dean should be here, doing unspeakable to Sam's body with his tongue.

Sam called Dean's cell and was not surprised that Dean didn't pick up. He thought about leaving a message but didn't want to sound like a pissed off girlfriend who's been forgotten on her birthday.

Sam thought about trying to make a cake then laughed at himself. The last time he tried anything ambitious in the kitchen had ended in one big mess and a very disgruntled older brother. Dean had quickly claimed the kitchen as his domain much to Sam's surprise. So Dean did all the cooking and Sam ended up having to mow the lawn . . . and Dean called _him_ a girl.

It was almost five, as Sam was contemplating get drunk by himself, when he heard the Impala pulling into the driveway. Sam kept sitting in his chair in front of the silent television, face set on bitchface #4. He didn't know why he was so annoyed about Dean being gone all day on his birthday. In all honesty, it was probably because he was so bored all day. At any rate, he was annoyed and he was going to stay that way, dammit.

That was, until the front door open and smallish black dog bounded into the house and right up to Sam, barking happily.

"What the," Sam started, sliding off the chair, "Dean?"

"Kodak, actually." Dean said, walking into view with an arm full of stuff and dropping it all next to the television.

Sam had started to pet the dog to calm it down, it was a very fluffy dog, and it couldn't seem to stay still.

"It's a dog," Sam said looking up at Dean.

"Now I can see how you got into college, Sammy." Dean rolled his eyes and headed into the kitchen.

"I . . ." Sam trailed off, he wasn't sure what exactly was going on.

Dean returned to the living room with a beer and leaned against the wall watching Sam and the dog.

"It's a Schipperke," Dean explained after a long pull on the beer. "I got a good deal on it too, they can get expensive. There's this guy I work with that was willin' to sell him to me pretty cheap in exchange for some work on his 1972 Firebird. He was moving and couldn't keep the dog so . . ."

"You got me a dog," Sam said slowly.

"His name is Kodak," Dean said, scratching at the beer label. "He's two, he's got a bed n' dog toys n' everythin'. I stopped by work and got supplies to put in a pet door, he's got one of the grass pad things he can use when we're not here to take him out, so we could put that in the garage. I stopped by that pet store next door and got him a new tag for his collar . . . y'know you can actually take your dog in the store with you?"

"You got me a dog," Sam repeated, mystified. "Dean . . . you don't like dogs."

Dean shrugged, "I like _you_." Then he smirked, "'Sides, figured you could use company when you go runnin' or whatever. I hear they're pretty good watch dogs, anyway."

Dean strode over and kissed the top of Sam's head, "Happy birthday, Sammy."

Before Dean could move away, Sam caught his wrist and drew him down for a more thorough, satisfying kiss.

It was the best birthday, ever.


End file.
